quite a mystery to me, till I returned with him to the town-gate.
There I saw, that when I rushed in pell-mell with the flying enemy, they
had dropped the portcullis (a heavy falling door, with sharp spikes at
the bottom, let down suddenly to prevent the entrance of an enemy into
a fortified town) unperceived by me, which had totally cut off his hind
part, that still lay quivering on the outside of the gate. It would have
been an irreparable loss, had not our farrier contrived to bring both
parts together while hot. He sewed them up with sprigs and young shoots
of laurels that were at hand; the wound healed, and, what could not have
happened but to so glorious a horse, the sprigs took root in his body,
grew up, and formed a bower over me; so that afterwards I could go upon
many other expeditions in the shade of my own and my horse’s laurels.
CHAPTER VI
_The Baron is made a prisoner of war, and sold for a slave – Keeps the
Sultan’s bees, which are attacked by two bears – Loses one of his bees;
a silver hatchet, which he throws at the bears, rebounds and flies up to
the moon; brings it back by an ingenious invention; falls to the earth
on his return, and helps himself out of a pit – Extricates himself from
a carriage which meets his in a narrow road, in a manner never before
attempted nor practised since – The wonderful effects of the frost upon
his servant’s French horn._
I was not always successful. I had the misfortune to be overpowered
by numbers, to be made prisoner of war; and, what is worse, but always
usual among the Turks, to be sold for a slave. [The Baron was afterwards
in great favour with the Grand Seignior, as will appear hereafter.] In
that state of humiliation my daily task was not very hard and laborious,
but rather singular and irksome. It was to drive the Sultan’s bees every
morning to their pasture-grounds, to attend them all the day long, and
against night to drive them back to their hives. One evening I missed a
bee, and soon observed that two bears had fallen upon her to tear her to
pieces for the honey she carried. I had nothing like an offensive weapon
in my hands but the silver hatchet, which is the badge of the Sultan’s
gardeners and farmers. I threw it at the robbers, with an intention to
frighten them away, and set the poor bee at liberty; but, by an unlucky
turn of my arm, it flew upwards, and continued rising till it
reached the moon. How should I recover it? how fetch it down again?
I recollected that Turkey-beans grow very quick, and run up to an
astonishing height. I planted one immediately; it grew, and actually
fastened itself to one of the moon’s horns. I had no more to do now
but to climb up by it into the moon, where I safely arrived, and had a
troublesome piece of business before I could find my silver hatchet, in
a place where everything has the brightness of silver; at last,
however, I found it in a heap of chaff and chopped straw. I was now for
returning: but, alas! the heat of the sun had dried up my bean; it was
totally useless for my descent: so I fell to work, and twisted me a rope
of that chopped straw, as long and as well as I could make it. This I
fastened to one of the moon’s horns, and slid down to the end of it.
Here I held myself fast with the left hand, and with the hatchet in my
right, I cut the long, now useless end of the upper part, which, when
tied to the lower end, brought me a good deal lower: this repeated
splicing and tying of the rope did not improve its quality, or bring me
down to the Sultan’s farm. I was four or five miles from the earth at
least when it broke; I fell to the ground with such amazing violence,
that I found myself stunned, and in a hole nine fathoms deep at
least, made by the weight of my body falling from so great a height: I
recovered, but knew not how to get out again; however, I dug slopes or
steps with my finger-nails [the Baron’s nails were then of forty years’
growth], and easily accomplished it.
Peace was soon after concluded with the Turks, and gaining my liberty,
I left St. Petersburg at the time of that singular revolution, when the
emperor in his cradle, his mother, the Duke of Brunswick, her father,
Field-Marshal Munich, and many others were sent to Siberia. The winter
was then so uncommonly severe all over Europe, that ever since the sun
seems to be frost-bitten. At my return to this place, I felt on the road
greater inconveniences than those I had experienced on my setting out.
I travelled post, and finding myself in a narrow lane, bid the
postillion give a signal with his horn, that other travellers might
not meet us in the narrow passage. He blew with all his might; but his
endeavours were in vain, he could not make the horn sound, which was
unaccountable, and rather unfortunate, for soon after we found ourselves
in the presence of another
